


While the City Sleeps

by hejustlikeshoney



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Town of Salem (Video Game), Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: F/F, F/M, honestly what is this, i don't even ship any of these why, i'm sorry if you don't understand town of salem, ignore the two chapters thing because it probably won't happen, or if you don't understand war and peace, why, why why why
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 14:05:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13765716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hejustlikeshoney/pseuds/hejustlikeshoney
Summary: While the city sleeps, Hélène is wide awake.





	While the City Sleeps

The sun streamed in through the gabled windows, shedding light on the unmade bed where she sat.

Hélène ran her fingers through her hair anxiously, her eyes flitting around the room and catching on random articles spread throughout. She acknowledged a family picture on the nightstand in which there was a mother, a father, and two young children.

The man in the picture entered the room, his eyes falling on Hélène, a scowl spreading across his face.

“You’ve done your job. Leave.” It was an order, Hélène noted, nothing similar to his tone of voice that night.

“Y-Yes, sir.” Hélène’s voice cracked as she spoke. She pulled her thin green dress back on over her head and pulled on her worn-out, oversized coat, struggling to tug the sleeves over her shaking arms. She tripped over her feet as she fled the bedroom, ran down the creaking stairs, not caring how much sound they made, and walked straight out the front door.

She stopped once she reached the sidewalk, taking some time to collect herself. Her legs were bare, her entire body trembling in the freezing winter air. Her apartment was five miles away, too far to walk in this weather, especially when she considered how exhausted she was.

She pitied the man she had slept with that night; he told her in drunken confidence how his wife had left him one year back, how he rarely saw his children anymore. She had wiped the tears from his eyes, comforted him as she held him in her arms, let him cry on her bare shoulder. She shuddered as she remembered every detail of the man’s sudden vulnerability. 

And the job keeps me distracted, he had told her. I’ve spent so much time investigating other people that I never take the time to think about myself. This, of course, transformed into a long and boring conversation about his job as an investigator for the police department, in which he spilled more information to Hélène than he should have.

Hélène was not proud of her profession. It was shameful. People who passed her on the streets knew what she was, they laughed, they stared. Few people in the world truly made Hélène feel as if she was worth something. 

After this particular incident, she would encounter two. Two who would tell her their names, two who would change her.

The first was Fyodor Ivanovich Dolokhov. His brown eyes had seemed soft and sad until he pushed her down onto the bed, practically winding her. She had gasped, and then looked at him with a glint of ferocity in her eyes, leading to an incomparable, intense night which made Hélène feel more powerful than she ever had before.

The second was Marya Dmitryevna Akhrosimova. The woman had been kind at first, asking what Hélène was comfortable with, a privilege which Hélène did not often receive. Hélène admitted anything was fine, but she was shocked when Marya proved to be more vicious than Hélène had assumed. It was a stark contrast to Hélène’s experience with Fedya: she felt incredibly powerless, and she loved it.

In the midst of the intensity, Marya had the younger woman pinned down to the bed, a flurry of kisses running all over Hélène’s body that were by no means delicate. It was so strange, so different, and Hélène felt as if she was falling in love with this woman, her figure, her personality, everything about her. Hélène wanted to grow used to this feeling, to experience it everyday. She felt as if she could live the rest of her life out in this bedroom.

And she would, she realized, as she felt the knife in her chest.


End file.
